


Responsibility and Rest

by finefeatheredfriend



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, M/M, Massage, One Shot, Oral Sex, Tooth Rotting Fluff, bottom Eivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27705413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finefeatheredfriend/pseuds/finefeatheredfriend
Summary: Eivor finds himself overworked and wishing for more time with Tarben. He reminisces about their first time and finds that Tarben can put his baking skills to good use when needed. Pure fluff and smut and I'm not even a little bit sorry about it.
Relationships: Eivor/Tarben (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 216





	Responsibility and Rest

There was, as ever, more work to be done than there were adequate hours in the day. Eivor put on a strong face, nodding with an air of forced serenity at Petra when she once again reminded him that they needed a hunting lodge. They needed a hunting lodge, a cattle farm, a stable and a half dozen other buildings, alongside residences and resources that he was tasked with providing. Voices greeted him from every direction, the village children giggling and scurrying around him, one of them tugging his cloak for fun as they sprinted past, calling out to him. He smiled and held up a hand in greeting to them, waiting for them to be out of sight before he gave a disgruntled sound of annoyance in his throat and straightened his cloak. There was only so much one man could do, but he must do it, he thought, giving himself a long moment to press his eyes shut and take a deep breath, to regroup. Much though the amount of work threatened to overwhelm him, he realized that he and his people had accomplished much since coming here.

Though it was only early evening, Eivor felt a yawn coming on and then found himself locked in a series of deep, loud yawns that made his jaw crack. He considered how much rest he had gotten recently. How long had he slept last night amid his fitful dreams? Two hours? Three?

Eivor's thoughts drifted to the other activity that had kept him up late into the night, allowed himself to revel in the dull ache in his center from being plowed fast and hard by Tarben in the quiet and warmth of his room at the back of the newly-built bakery. Eivor's loins tightened at the thought and he huffed a soft laugh, remembering how much he had been forced to beg Tarben, how he had whined and keened for him, begging quietly, and then louder and more urgently, "Harder, Tarben! Yes, _fuck_ , faster! Yes!" until he was sure no one in the village would be able to meet his eye in the light of the morning sun.

Though he always put on a strong, domineering face to meet the demands of Raventhorpe, Eivor knew he could be soft with Tarben. He could put aside all the bravado, all the arrogance and cool aggression his daytime activities required. During the day, the hamlet needed Eivor to be in control, to be calm and forceful and dangerous. But at night, in the light of a smoldering oven fire, he could just be Eivor.

Quiet, gentle, submissive Eivor. He remembered fondly their first time several weeks ago...

Eivor's heart raced in his chest, his pulse fluttery, his cheeks red with nerves and excitement as Tarben gently cupped his cheek, as his big hands ran up through Eivor's hair, tangling roughly in the thatch of braids, grasping him with a kind of delicate insistence that ran a shiver up his spine. Whenever he had tangled in the blankets with someone, Eivor had always been the one in control, but with the simple touch of Tarben's hands, he felt all of his power seep away. He submitted for the first time in his life, allowing the taller, broader man to push him down onto his fur-covered bed.

Eivor's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as Tarben pressed a thumb inside of his mouth with a low growl. His knee came up and rubbed against Eivor's groin where he was pinned. Eivor gave a soft whimper, a sound he could not recall having made since he was young, a kind of frightened, anticipatory sigh as this bigger man gently demanded authority over him.

"Please. Let me take you, Eivor," Tarben whispered in his ear, nibbling the lobe. Eivor melted at the words and nodded, sucking on Tarben's thumb suggestively as he met the man's cool steel colored eyes. Tarben's free hand roamed over Eivor's chest, deft fingers finding the buckle that held his cloak to his shoulders. It slipped free and Eivor wiggled, tossing it from the bed and using the movement as an excuse to grind upward onto Tarben's knee, a keening moan escaping from his throat as he did so. Tarben's thumb slipped from his mouth and the other man's movements grew more urgent, clawing Eivor's clothing away as he gasped for breath. Eivor's fingers worked just as quickly, peeling off Tarben's tunic until they lay against one another, bare in dull light of the dying fire.

Eivor's cock jutted upward, a pearlescent droplet of moisture sitting at the tip. With a deft movement, Tarben bent and took Eivor into his mouth, eliciting a soft cry.

"All Father!" Eivor moaned and Tarben chuckled around his shaft, his full lips sliding off his flesh with an obscene pop. He smiled.

"No, it's just me," he murmured. Eivor sucked in a breath at the look of Tarben between his spread thighs, lips glistening with moisture.

"Come up here," Eivor commanded with a smirk, hands tugging at Tarben. Tarben's hand reached up and gave Eivor's shaft a mighty squeeze instead.

"I am not done with the evening's work," he answered, and with that, slid his mouth back over Eivor's shaft. Eivor writhed and squirmed beneath Tarben's ministrations, every demand met with quiet disobedience as Tarben did as he pleased, though always with Eivor's consent first.

Eivor felt himself gently spread with strong fingers, whined, his toes curling as Tarben touched something within him that the gods themselves must have planted there. Eivor saw stars behind his eyelids as Tarben, his hands and arms powerful with the work of kneading dough, worked Eivor's body over until he felt as though he was going to melt into the bed and cease to be.

Just as Eivor had thought he could feel no greater pleasure than Tarben had already brought him with his mouth and his hands, Tarben readjusted, pulling Eivor to the edge of the bed, his own body settled firmly between Eivor's legs, his own stiff cock sliding against Eivor's lazily. Eivor stared up at his lover beneath hooded eyes, his chest warming with adoration for this beautiful man.

"Are you ready?" Tarben asked gently, reaching down to cup Eivor's cheek in a tender gesture as his other hand reached for a bottle of oil, anointing himself and Eivor with it until every inch of skin that rubbed together was slick and glistening.

"Yes," Eivor breathed, feeling Tarben adjust his hips so that the thick tip of his shaft pressed at his entrance. Leaning forward with slow movements, Tarben sank within Eivor until he was buried to the hilt, both of them moaning at the sensation, Eivor at the stark feeling of being split and filled, Tarben at the overwhelming warmth.

"Gods, you're tight," Tarben murmured and Eivor grinned, clenching so that all his muscles tightened. "Show off," Tarben laughed, bending over to tip Eivor's chin up and kiss him deeply, his tongue pressing into Eivor's mouth just as insistently as his cock pressed into his ass. Eivor grunted and whimpered through the kiss, his legs slinging around Tarben's hips and pulling up to spear himself more thoroughly on Tarben's cock.

"Tarben," he breathed, and Eivor knocked the baker's neatly tied hair to the side, tugging on him with a soft whimper of need. Tarben tipped his forehead down so that it rested against Eivor's and they breathed one another's air. On Tarben's breath Eivor could smell the heady sweetness of mead and bread and mint. Eivor ran his hands up around Tarben's waist and then up to his shoulders, moving beneath him, trying to assert control, but Tarben's hand squeezing one of his thighs stopped him.

"Let me," Tarben whispered, and he began making love to Eivor in earnest, his hips rocking forward and backward in a slick stroking motion. Tarben's lips trailed down Eivor's neck, sucking and lapping at the delicate skin there, his tongue laving over the place where his pulse betrayed the wild beating of his heart. Tarben grasped at Eivor's waist, burying himself deep within the smaller Viking, pumping moans and grunts and whines from Eivor's throat.

Realizing that half the village could probably hear, Eivor cupped a hand over his own mouth, biting down on a knuckle in desperation to quiet himself. His eyebrows drawn upward in the middle, his face a portrait of pleasure and ache and ecstasy. Eivor's legs slipped from around Tarben's waist and Tarben grabbed one of his ankles, slinging it up and onto his shoulder so that he could drive himself deeper within the smaller man. Eivor's calf was settled against Tarben's shoulder and Tarben tugged him closer, the tip of his sheathed cock massaging that point of pleasure within Eivor until, at last, with the slow, languorous movements of his hips, Tarben tipped Eivor from the precipice he had been standing, his climax surging through his flesh with as much of a thrill as leaping from a clifftop.

Warmth spurted from the tip of Eivor's cock as Tarben's strong hand worked him through it, plowing him to a matching rhythm as he too found his pleasure and spilled it deep within Eivor before crashing next to him on the bed.

They lay together, both panting, both slick with sweat and oil. Tarben shoved his arm beneath Eivor and pulled the smaller man up and halfway onto his chest, slinging his arm over Eivor's shoulder as they settled into one another.

"That was..." Eivor started, turning his head to the side to look into Tarben's eyes.

"Shh," Tarben interrupted, pressing his lips to Eivor's once more and brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. They lay there quietly, no conversation needed, the song of crickets and nightingales the only sound aside from the crackling fire in the oven.

"I should go to the longhouse," Eivor murmured, not wanting to be a bother. He felt Tarben's arm around his shoulders tighten slightly in response before he relaxed.

"You don't have to. You could stay."

"Only if you want." Tarben huffed a soft laugh.

"I want nothing more, Eivor."

"Then I shall stay," Eivor promised, turning onto his side and nuzzling deeper into Tarben's embrace...

"Eivor? Do you hear me?"

Eivor shook himself, forced out of his reverie about that night. Gunnar stood before him, waving a hand in front of his eyes as though trying to wake him from a walking sleep.

"I was asking if you wanted me to buff out that dent in your chest piece, but I suppose if you are too busy communing with the gods..." he groused.

"Yes, Gunnar, sorry," Eivor said sheepishly, realizing he had been standing awkwardly in the middle of Raventhorpe, staring with half-glazed eyes at the armory. He unbuckled the armor and passed it to Gunnar, left in nothing but a thin shirt, his boots and breeches. Shivering, he found himself drawn again to the bakery.

Inside, Tarben was grinding rosemary for a batch of seasoned bread loaves.

“How are you today, my love?” the baker asked, glancing up from his mortar and pestle.

Eivor opened his mouth to say something clever and instead stopped himself, his teeth coming together with a click. Tarben's gaze flicked up again, and he stopped the movement of his hand on the pestle, his brows furrowing in concern.

“Eivor?”

“I am... _tired,”_ Eivor admitted with a small sigh, pressing the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger for a moment. He looked at Tarben, a goofy smile spreading across his angular features. “Nothing getting bedded won't remedy, I'm sure,” he said, approaching and rubbing his palm over the back of Tarben's neck in a gesture of familiarity and suggestion.

“You haven't been sleeping much and what sleep you do get is riddled with dreams, love,” Tarben murmured, wiping his hands on a cloth before standing and cupping Eivor's cheeks tenderly. “If you want to rest here...”

“I want you,” Eivor told him, his hand running down Tarben's front to grasp at the gathered cloth that covered his groin, “to plow me the way you did last night.”

“We shall see where the evening takes us,” Tarben responded, a sly smile spreading across his handsome features. “Lay down on the bed.”

As always, Eivor put aside any pride or need to control and immediately obeyed. He shed his breeches and boots and folded his arms behind his head, watching Tarben move around the room, tidying a few things and checking a loaf he had left to proof. He poked it with a finger and grunted, apparently content, before approaching Eivor.

“You can't do any plowing while you're still wearing breeches, love,” the smaller man commented. Tarben raised one eyebrow but otherwise ignored the remark, placing his arms akimbo imperiously.

“Turn over,” he said simply. Eivor frowned, but obeyed without argument, flipping onto his belly on the soft furs.

“Going to fuck me into this bed, are you?” Tarben again ignored him, climbing onto the bed so that his legs were on either side of Eivor's waist. Eivor opened his mouth to speak, but Tarben placed a large hand on the back of his head and forced his face into the pillow playfully. Eivor gave a muffled noise of irritation, but did not argue further.

“Close your eyes, love.”

Eivor obeyed, taking a deep breath. The pillow smelled like Tarben, bread, honey and smoke... He heard the sounds of a bottle being opened, skin rubbing together and he purred in his throat, awaiting Tarben's touch.

Oil-slicked hands ran over his shoulders and he hummed. Fingers worked into flesh, grasping and kneading until it was almost painful. Eivor shuddered.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Just relax,” Tarben answered. Deft fingers pressed beneath Eivor's shoulder blades, working out knots in the thick muscles at each side of his spine. The heels of Tarben's hands ground into hard muscle, pinching and shoving and rolling as though Eivor was made of dough. Waves of pleasure washed over Eivor and he found that it was not lust, but love that warmed his chest. Tarben brought the strength and talent of his work to Eivor's flesh, pulling every bit of stress and ache and tension from Eivor's body. He worked his way from Eivor's shoulders down his back, bending occasionally to press his lips against whitened battle scars. When he heard Eivor moan in pain as he worked the scarred tissue on his neck and shoulder where the wolf had bitten him years before, Tarben's hands gentled.

“Does it hurt you still?”

“Sometimes. It aches when the nights are cold.”

“Then let me always warm them for you,” Tarben breathed, kissing behind Eivor's ear.

Strength and gentleness mingled, driving away Eivor's worries. Tarben's hands brought relief from pain, and his lips brought relief from loneliness. Inch by muscled inch, Eivor felt himself relax, felt himself give over completely to Tarben's touch.

A quiet moan escaped his lips and he heard soft laughter behind him.

“Does that feel good?”

“Wonderful,” Eivor answered, his lips against the pillow, muffling the word.

Eivor awoke to the sounds of birds singing and a rooster crowing. He yawned, stretched. A shaft of sunlight hit his brow, casting sharp light across his eyelids so that all he could see was a burning red. Holding a hand up to shield his vision, he opened his eyes and blinked.

“Huh?” The familiar scent of grain and yeast greeted his nostrils. Added to it was the smell of cooking egg and sizzling pig fat. “How long have I been sleeping?” he asked with another cavernous yawn, sitting upright and stretching. He blinked, realizing that Tarben was not in the bakery. It was morning, he saw, shocked. A moment later, Tarben returned, a thick dollop of honeycomb held on a wooden platter.

“Good morning, my love,” he said, setting it down and kissing Eivor on the forehead. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like the dead,” Eivor admitted. “No dreams, just...rest. But it was early evening when I came in here...”

“You needed the sleep,” Tarben told him lightly, removing the eggs and pork from the cookstove. He jutted a plate to Eivor. On it was rested a light, buttery biscuit, several strips of pork fat and two eggs, still steaming from being cooked. Honey had been drizzled over the biscuit and a handful of raspberries adorned one edge of the plate. Eivor smiled beatifically at Tarben.

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” he murmured.

“You need do nothing but be yourself, love. Now eat. I'll see you rested and well fed before you go to work keeping this village put together.”

“And I will see you tonight,” Eivor promised, “For that magic touch of yours.” Tarben chuckled and the two ate in congenial silence, enjoying one another's presence.

When Eivor stepped from the bakery, he carried himself with authority and calm importance, but with a renewed strength in his step and a brightness in his eyes. The responsibilities of the day didn't seem so overwhelming when he knew what awaited him in the quiet of the night.


End file.
